The Girl Who Lived On
by World'sOnlyConsultingCriminal
Summary: Sherlock has just lost his almost wife, and is left with their newborn baby. How can this consulting detective cope without the one person that ever understand him? The third part of my three part series that started with "The Girl Who Counted" and continued with "The Girl Who Mattered." I suppose it could stand on it's own... But I wouldn't suggest it.
1. Chapter 1

**_This is the third part of a series. I would very much suggest going back and reading the other two parts before starting this one. _**

**_"The Girl Who Counted" & "The Girl Who Mattered"_**

**_Sorry about all the feels. D=_**

* * *

_Death vs. Dying_

_It's not as if they are the same thing. Dying is still warm, still connected to life as we know it. Death is cold. Dying is letting go. Death is being gone. Death is something I don't know anything about, except that embalmed bodies are poor representations of the people who once animated them._ _Dying must be a lot like moving from one place to another. I've said goodbye many times in my life. Life goes on—for me and for those I leave behind. But it feels lonely, especially at first, and the nostalgia for past lives never completely disappears. - Nancy Meredith_

I had all sorts of thoughts running through my head. Thoughts on life and death, right and wrong. My mind palace swarmed with such thoughts and it was unbelievably unbearable. However, that wasn't the worst part. Memories, bad memories, painful memories, long forgotten memories were flooding back. Things I'd stuffed into the corners of drawers and closets, things I thought I had deleted forever, all those things I'd done my best to forget, coming back to haunt me. Yet even that wasn't the worst part. The absolute worst part was the screaming. The constant, merciless shrieking that howled through every lonely room, every desolate corridor of my now damaged mind palace along with every bone and every vein in my body. It wouldn't stop, it couldn't stop and I suffered second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour. I sat there hoping I would just die so the screaming and endless torment would just end.

My normally clear and clever head was now polluted. It was filled with anger and loss, fear and sorrow, pain and suffering. These were emotions that I'd never learned to deal with, ones that I couldn't even recognize right away on my own. So all of my feelings, all that sentiment, from all those indifferent years of my dull life, came thundering inside my head. Including the day my father left, the night my mother died, the day I died, and the lonely months that followed… Molly had been the best thing in my life, but in a way she was the worst as well. She made me aware of all the emotions and sentiment, and allowed me to break completely when she left. But I honestly would not have had it any other way.

But to sum things up, it wasn't until the moment I lost my almost wife that I felt true and unrelenting pain.

* * *

Friends and family were saddened to gather for a funeral instead of a wedding. The beautiful, cheerful atmosphere that should have occurred was replaced with a painful, hard to breathe air that burned one's eyes and throat. There were not any happy tears that often accompanied weddings. I'd never really appreciated happy crying until that day. I'd never really understood how or why people did it. But once I gave it a bit of thought, I could see its true beauty. Crying is so strongly associated with emotional pain, yet it also occurs in even the most positive situations. One possibility is that happy crying really isn't that different from sad crying. What both have in common is a period of intense emotional arousal. Indeed, brain regions associated with emotional arousal, including areas of the hypothalamus and basal ganglia, are connected to a section of the brainstem called the lacrimal nucleus that stimulates tear production. Given these connections, it is tempting to think that crying is the result of our emotions reaching some kind of boiling point. But evidence suggests instead, that crying may occur only after the worst is over. But in this case, the worst had just begun and there wasn't a dry eye in the audience. The only exception was Victoria. She didn't cry, she hadn't once cried. Maybe I would have normally been concerned, but I was too busy mourning the loss of the one person that had ever understood me.

When I had stood in the front of the funeral's audience, I could feel all sorts of eyes on me. Even my own brother looked at me with concern. It wasn't until later that I realized why. That moment had been the first time since my early childhood that I had cried in public, let alone shown any form of emotion. Everyone surrounding me saw me as a cold, hard man that found excitement in London's newest serial killer and enjoyed the chase of a criminal, even when children were on death's door. I'd spent all my years trying to hide away of all emotions, that everyone just wrongly assumed that I didn't have any. Unfortunately, the one and only person that knew the real Sherlock, the soft and understanding being inside this cold hard shell, was lying dead in a closed casket in front of me.

Closed casket? Many had asked. Molly hadn't been harmed or disabled in any way that showed in an open casket. But it had been an easy decision. I wanted to remember her alive and well, happy and beautiful, pregnant and _glowing_. Anything but cold and terrifyingly dead.

I held my dear little Victoria Rose in my arms. Many people, including Mycroft, had suggested that I not bring her. Apparently, "funerals are no place for newborns." But she was all I had left of Molly, she was all I had left to hang on to, and there was no way in hell I was about to leave the only good thing in my life with some random babysitter.

I looked down at my daughter fondly. She was my life now and as she stared back up with her big, bright eyes, I realized that no matter what, no matter how hard things were, and no matter how impossible moving on seemed, I would keep myself together. Just for her.

* * *

**_And the long awaited installment of this series begins..._**

**_This was very emotional for me to write, but whether that was just me... I don't know._**

**_This story is currently minus a title, if you've got any clever ideas... Please leave me a review... I am sticking with "The Girl Who..."_**

**_Thank you guys so much for sticking around for this. I know the last one was finished like two months ago._**

**_I appreciate any comments you guys have. And I do have a legite plot question..._**

**_Do you want me to come up with a legite, crime-filled plot? Or, have 6 more chapters of little Victoria Rose growing up? Give it some thought. _**

**_One last thing, I've recently created a tumblr, if you'd like to follow me... Send me a message. c:_**

**_Thanks loves. C:_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_I'm sorry this chapter took so long... I've been out of town and without the abilities to get this online._**

**_But I hope you enjoy it anyways. C:_**

* * *

In the next weeks that followed, people stopped by offering their only partly sincere condolences, dropping off casserole after casserole and pie after pie, and cooing over the beautiful, little Victoria and repeatedly telling me how much she resembled Molly.

I really couldn't take it.

Most of the people that stopped by I didn't even know. It wasn't like I knew a lot of people personally in the first place, but apparently Molly had known plenty. There were friends, family members, and co-workers of hers that I'd never even bothered to meet. They didn't really feel sorry for me, they were genuinely going to miss Molly, and there felt sorry for the poor little girl that was going to grow up not having even known her amazing mother. But I… I was the one that had knocked Molly up and she died because of it.

It was all too much.

All the different people swam inside my mind palace (more like a mind ruin now), unable to connect faces with names or with what those faces said or how I should know those names. Their words didn't process in my head, and most of them would just pry Victoria from my arms, removing the one tie I had to the planet beneath my feet.

It hurt too much and I finally had to put a note on the door, telling people to just go away. I could handle John and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson of course. Even Donovan and Anderson stopped by once and it was almost bearable, but all those others… I just couldn't take it.

Slowly more and more people got the idea, and the doorbell stopped ringing all together. The fridge was full of things that would never get eaten. Majority of people left me with dinners that could feed a whole family of five, but there were only two of us. Unfortunately, one of us didn't eat solids, and the other rarely ate anything at all.

I tried to keep myself together, and I took care of my daughter just as I had promised Molly's grave. She was as healthy as a premature baby could possibly be, but I could feel _myself_ slipping. I didn't notice the weight loss until my trousers stopped fitting. My hands visibly shook at all times, most noticeably when attempting to make and/or drink tea. The rubbish bin full of broken teapots and mugs proved that. The urge to start smoking became more and more evident, and before I knew it, I was spending four times the usual amount on nicotine patches. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a complete stranger and I knew that was what others saw as well. The eyes appeared vacant and distant. The dark circles under them showed the hours upon hours without sleep more than ever before. The whole face appeared hollow and grim. It was the sort of face that frightens small children. Now I didn't even have to open my mouth to scare people away.

I knew my brother would eventually step in, but I had thought I would have plenty of time to right myself before he came barreling into my flat and tearing my already broken life apart. However, I was wrong. He only gave me a month.

I hadn't been expecting the knock at my door so late in the evening. It being ten o'clock, I had just put Victoria down for the evening and I was worried whoever the visitor might be would wake her up.

I had no idea that _that_ was to be the least of my problems.

I'd barely managed to open the door before Mycroft and Anthea came swiftly in. "Sherlock, you really should be quicker next time. We had to wait in the rain."

"Well, where's your umbrella?" Mycroft was rarely seen without it, even on the sunniest of days. But now he just glared at me and I suddenly remembered why he didn't have it. A week or so before the day Victoria was born I'd stolen Mycroft's favorite umbrella just to piss him off. It had been fun to watch his face redden with anger and whiten when Molly walked in, telling him off for ransacking our flat.

"Don't you have like a spare stash of them or something?" I chuckled, but Mycroft just remained silent and sullen. "This is awfully late for a normal house call."

"You don't sleep much, so I fail to see why it matters what time I come around." He muttered, shoving his drenched coat at me. Anthea handed hers over more politely and gave me a warm smile. I almost felt sorry for letting them get soaked outside… Almost.

"Well I have a child now that _does_ sleep. And I would gladly appreciate it if you would call before anymore surprise visits." I said, leading them into the living room.

"That won't be necessary."

"Oh, wonderful. You won't ever both with visiting again?"

My brother and Anthea exchanged an exasperated look. "That's not what he means." She replied quietly.

Then it hits me. I knew all along that Mycroft would try and swoop in, but I'd never imagined this. "You plan on taking her from me?"

Mycroft just nods.

The room is absolutely silent, but inside my head there's this long, sad, terrified scream. They can't take my baby. They won't.

But they can, and they do.

A couple of Mycroft's men come out of nowhere and restrain me. There's no point in resisting, I had let myself get too weak.

Anthea walked out with a still sleeping Victoria, and a strangled sob escapes me. "Mycroft… Please… I'm begging you. She's all I've got." I had never begged for anything before, but I had never loved anyone more than I had loved Molly and Victoria.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, she's in good hands."

"I've been taking care of her!" I shouted. He had to have known this! I'd been under surveillance all my life.

"I know, but look at you, brother. You're slowly killing yourself, and I refuse to let my niece lose _both_ of her parents. Pull yourself together, show me you can take care of yourself, and I'll hand her back over. Do whatever it takes: get some sleep, eat like a normal human being, go back to work, or at least attempt some more of your little experiments… Live your life, Sherlock, don't just survive it." And with those encouraging, meaningful words hardly spoken by him, Mycroft and his men walked out the door.

I watched their car drive away with Victoria in it before collapsing to the ground. I realize that Mycroft's right, and I'm no good to my daughter if I'm incapable of taking care of myself.

It was time to make a change.

* * *

I looked myself over in the mirror. The changes I'd been able to make in the past two weeks were outstanding. Repairs had been made to my mind palace, even if it wasn't quite perfect, renovations were still underway. I'd gotten my shaggy head of hair trimmed so I no longer resembled one of my many associates from the homeless network. I'd started eating an average of two meals a day, therefore my body looked healthier than it had since my teenage years. I'd started helping Lestrade on minor cases and some light had returned to my formerly dull eyes. I managed to sleep an average of six hours every night, leaving myself more refreshed and almost pleasing to the eye. It was all a big change.

I pulled on my coat and straightened my tie. I never used to wear ties, but apparently it was the more sophisticated and accepted fashion statement for men my age and of my field. I couldn't have cared less about fashion or trends, but I wanted to impress my brother. Never before had I ever felt the need to do so, but I was desperate to have my baby back. If that meant pulling myself together, there was nothing in the world that could stop me.

Shutting the door to the flat behind me, I watched one of Mycroft's multiple cars pull up. Without waiting for the driver to do it for me, I opened the backdoor and slid in. "Anthea." I greeted her politely.

"Mr. Holmes."

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at such a clear statement against my request. "I hope you've been taking good care of my daughter?"

"Of course. She's very quiet and very well-behaved for her age. And of course I couldn't leave Mycroft alone with her for any extended period of time. He knows next to nothing about childcare."

"Well he was a fine one to talk about the way I was taking care of her then."

"Don't be so harsh, Mr. Holmes. He did the right thing. I mean, look at you. I've never seen you looking so healthy!" I wanted to point out that she rarely saw me in the first place, but thought better of it when she leaned in unnervingly close. "You look fantastic."

"I really would appreciate it if you called me Sherlock." I replied stiffly, trying not to show how uncomfortable Anthea's nearness was making me. I sighed with relief when we pulled up next to Mycroft's office flat in the heart of London. I'd only ever been to his mansion on the edge of the city, but Mycroft had given me the address enough times for it to be forever imprinted in my mind palace even if I wanted to delete it.

I hopped out of the door before Anthea could land up on my lap. I tried to hold back and walk calmly to the door, but I couldn't keep myself from having that little excited hop in my step.

The door opened for me and before I knew it, I was pulling Victoria out of Mycroft's arms. Tears stung my eyes as I realized she had grown in just the past two weeks she'd been absent from my life. But she was healthy, she was still perfect, but most of all, she was just _there_.

"Thank you, Mycroft." I said quietly for the first time without any anger or sarcasm.

"You're welcome." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with even that small little show of sentiment. "I'll just say I'm rather impressed." He didn't sound impressed in the least bit.

"So I can have her back now?" I asked, even though I wasn't about to let anyone take her from me again.

"Yes, Sherlock. I don't plan on intervening again anytime soon. But for her sake, do try and keep it together."

I just nodded, holding Victoria closely.

"I'll have the remainder of her things put in a car, but for the time being, would you like to have some tea?" Mycroft offering tea? Now that is a date to remember.

"Sure. Is there cake?" I grinned, finding my own way to the kitchen.

Mycroft scowled, maybe already regretting his kind offer, but it didn't last. "Of course there's cake. You know me better than anyone else. Do I ever _not_ have cake?"

We both chuckled. And I realized that maybe my older, bossy, annoying brother wasn't the worst person in the world after all…

* * *

**_Yayyy. C: Things are just dandy..._**

**_I will warn you that the next chapter skips foward by a few years._**

**_I will also warn you that there is a possibility that all of my coming chapters for this will be longer than my normal 1000ish words like this one was..._**

**_I'm still working on a title, although you guys are helping a lot and I do at least have a couple of ideas._**

**_Leave your reviews and let me know what you think about the title, or just about the chapter._**

**_The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long, it's mostly done actually..._**

**_Thanks for sticking with me. C:_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_This chapter is legitely the longest I've ever written... You may pat me on the back now. xD_**

**_I just changed the title from "Untitled" to "The Girl Who Lived On"._**

**_Now don't get all excited, Molly isn't coming back._**

**_"The Girl" in this one is Victoria._**

**_Sorry to burst your bubble. C:_**

* * *

"Daddy? Daddy?... _Daddy_?"

Victoria's voice brought me back from my thoughts on my latest experiment that had catastrophically failed. "What is it, Vita?"

"Can I have your other hand pwease?"

"Yeah, of course." I put my left hand on the table and smiled when I felt her small, toddler fingers grab my thumb. "What are you doing?"

"I'm still not gonna tell you, Daddy."

I tried once again to peek through my closed eye lids, but was _once again _yelled at. "Daddy! You can't peek! I told you that four times already!"

"I know, Victoria. I'm sorry." I chuckled. She was quite the stubborn four-year-old, much like I had been I suppose. Of course I already knew that she was painting my nails, it wasn't hard to tell from the smell, but I wasn't about to spoil her fun.

Too anybody else I would have just implied that painting one's nails is simply illogical… Especially when they were _my_ nails. But she had no other guinea pigs, and for some reason, it was fun to turn Daddy into a girl. But really I just felt guilty, obviously she was without a compassionate mother, I was _not_ planning on ever providing her with another sibling, and she had yet to start school and make her own friends. As for _my_ friends, Lestrade had only managed to father male offspring, and I knew, even though no one technically told me, that John and his wife Mary were having extreme difficulties getting pregnant. I was all Victoria really had.

"Ohtay, Daddy. You can look now!" Victoria's young voice was again cutting through my voice. The only other person that had been capable of getting inside my mind like that had been Molly.

I opened my eyes and viewed my now bright pink nails. "Wow! You did a great job. That is a… _bright_ pink…" I picked through my brain, trying to remember when or where or _why_ I would have bought her such an alarming shade of pink.

"Uncle Crofty bought it for me!" She exclaimed excitedly.

"Of course he did." I made a mental note to remind myself to go through everything Mycroft bought her before letting her see it. "You'll have to do his nails some time."

"Okay!" She smiled at me brightly and my eyes blurred with tears just for a moment before I managed to compose myself. She looked so much like Molly it hurt. Everything from her nose, to her small mouth, to her long, brown hair reminded me of my deceased almost wife. The only physical feature of mine that seemed to have inherited of mine was my eyes. Green and blue, sharp and piercing, the kind of eyes that bore into your very being.

The doorbell rang and I started to get up.

"No, Daddy! I'll get it! Let your nails dry!" Victoria giggled, and without another word, she was racing down the hall to the front door. I proceeded to stand up anyway, even though we lived in a fairly decent neighborhood, you really couldn't know who would appear at your front door.

I heard the door unlatch and heard my daughter calmly address the random visitor, which was fairly reassuring. "Hello, mister."

I paused and listened quietly for a reply, but hearing none, continued at a quicker pace.

"Are you alright, mister?" Once again, no reply.

I strode around the corner just in time to see a young man stumble and fall face first into the door way. Victoria was quick enough to get out of his way, and she didn't cry out, though her eyes were big and bright with shock and fear.

Before flipping the man onto his back, I counted five stab wounds from behind and quickly dialed Lestrade's number as I checked the man's pulse. There wasn't one. I had his wallet pulled out of his pocket and I was going through his ID before Lestrade bothered to pick up his phone.

"Sherlock, I'm up to my neck in paperwork. Now isn't really a good time to socialize. Can you call back later?"

"This isn't exactly a social call, Lestrade. I've got a dead body in my front hall." I looked up at Victoria, watching for any form of reaction from my words. But she just stood still in front of me, eyes still wide, but not a tear in site.

"What? Did you want me to send out the paramedics?"

"Dead, Lestrade. _Dead_. Too late for paramedics, please try to keep up. But you should get over here."

"Alright, I'm on my way." I heard muffled voices for a minute or two before hearing his car door slam. "Anderson wants to know if you killed him."

"Of course not." I snapped. "I don't really like having blood on my floor."

"Fair enough. So tell me what I need to know."

"Male, Caucasian. Name Timothy Green, goes by Timmy to his close friends and family. He was nineteen, on his way home early from work from the supermarket down the street because he wasn't feeling well. My guess it was some form of food poisoning. He was stabbed five times in the back, but died mainly from blood loss. He was most likely grabbed in the alley a door down from my flat and managed to stay alive long enough to stumble here and ring the doorbell."

"Why wouldn't he try the flat closest to the alley?" Lestrade questioned.

"Good question, but nobody lives there at the moment. This would support the fact that he walked the same way to and from work every day, therefore knowing that the place was vacant. I've seen his face before; it wouldn't surprise me if I've seen him walking by in the past." I stood up and eyed the trail of blood that lead onto the sidewalk angrily. A murder had just been committed seconds from my daughter.

"Do you think it was a planned murder or something a bit more random?"

"Hard to say. If it was planned, the murderer would have had to know that Timmy would be leaving work two hours early, which would suggest that he was the one that poisoned him which would suggest that they would at least know each other in some way or another. I'm going to need a bit more time to answer that one correctly."

"Of course. Look, I'm pulling on your street." As he hung up, I watched him pull up carelessly to the curb. I slipped my phone in my pocket and picked up Victoria.

"Are you alright, Vita?" I asked her quietly, but she just nodded.

Lestrade marched up and stepped around the body and into the house. "Poor bastard." He glanced up and saw Victoria. "I didn't know she was here."

"She does live here. She is, after all, my daughter. Besides, she was the one who opened the door." I said, clutching her tighter.

His eyes widened slightly. "You okay, Vicky?"

"Yes." She replied in a small voice.

"How many times have I told you _not_ to call her Vicky?" I complained. "If I wanted people to call her that, I would have named her that."

"You call her Vita." He said accusingly.

"That's different." I muttered.

"How?"

"Is now really the time for this?"

I waited for the answer, but he just stared at me. "Fine. _Vita_ is an uncommon name that can be derived from Victoria, but it is also Italian for _life_. _Bella Vita_ means _beautiful life_, and that is what she is. My beautiful life." I left out the part about Victoria being the only part of my life that matters since Molly was gone, and how she was the one string that kept me attached to life. The name had way more personal and emotional meanings that anybody needed to know.

I felt Victoria pet my cheek, whether she knew how much she meant to me or not, she'd understood most of what that had meant. However, Lestrade just stared at me in shock.

"Can we move on?" I asked impatiently.

"Yeah, right, sorry, of course. Why don't you go ahead and take her somewhere else and I'll get some people in here to clean this up."

"I'm not leaving."

"Get someone to watch her then." Lestrade glared at me slightly before glancing at my hands and giggling. "By the way, nice nails."

"Oh, shut up. And Mrs. Hudson is out of town." I replied grumpily.

"Mrs. Hudson isn't the only person in the world capable of childcare."

"Yes, she is." I grumbled, and he didn't argue.

"Sorry then. I didn't know it was bring your daughter to work day even if you work at crime scenes and with dead bodies."

"Why would that matter to you? You don't have a daughter." I retorted, heading out of the house.

"Where are you going?"

"The alley."

Lestrade mumbled something but I didn't catch it. It was probably obscene anyways. But this was just a stabbing, how bad could the crime scene be?

I wasn't prepared for _pretty damn bad_…

* * *

Victoria hadn't spoken in two hours. Ever since we'd walked into that alley she hadn't uttered a word.

I'd been expecting to find signs of a struggle, lots of blood, and maybe the weapon in question. What I wasn't expecting was three other bodies with similar wounds, and the murderer himself with an obviously self-inflicted slit throat. The blood would have been enough to cause anyone to faint... or vomit. But the stench was the worst.

I had willingly walked Victoria into one of the worst murder scenes I'd ever seen, real life and fiction included.

Reluctant to leave her on her own after exposing her to something of that nature, she sat beside me on the sofa while Lestrade and I discussed the details of the quickly closed case. She sat leaning against me and occasionally reached over to touch my arm or leg as if to make sure I was still there.

It didn't take long to tell Lestrade the key parts of the case. The man probably went crazy, waited in the alley for random victims just walking past (including a middle aged couple that had been shopping, a young female jogger, and the young male that had shown up at my front door), he realized what he'd done most likely and taken his own life, not waiting to make sure that his fourth victim was totally dead. He didn't seem to have a motive, and he pretty much closed the case himself with his suicide. It was quite simple really, but the crime scene had been no place for me, let alone my four-year-old daughter.

"I'm really sorry, Vita." I said, pulling her onto my lap.

"It's ohtay, Daddy. You didn't know."

I let out a small sigh of relief; I'd been starting to worry she wouldn't talk again.

Lestrade, obviously trying to lighten the mood, attempted bringing up a happier topic. "So I heard your birthday is next week."

Victoria smiled slightly. "Yeah! Are you coming to my party?"

I cringed. I hadn't bothered to invite Lestrade. I'd invited Mrs. Hudson of course, as well as John, and Mycroft only because he was Victoria's only other known living relative. Plus, he was providing the cake.

"I don't know. Sherlock, am I coming to her party?" He grinned at me knowingly.

"Sure. Why not? Friday afternoon around five, there will be pizza and cake… Pink cake."

"I'll be there. Did you want me to bring anything?" Lestrade asked.

I thought for a second. "Could you pick up a bottle of s-c-o-t-c-h? I'll give you the money for it; I just don't have the time."

He laughed. "Your brother is going to be there I assume? Of course, if there's cake, there's Mycroft. And don't worry about paying for it. It's on me." He stood up. "I'd better get going. I can let myself out."

After he was gone, I glanced down at Victoria. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah." She was quiet for a second. "Daddy? Are you going to get drunk at my birthday party?"

"What?" I asked, surprised.

"Well, if Greg is going to pick up some scotch because Uncle Crofty is going to be at my party… I thought maybe you were going to get drunk."

"I won't get drunk at your party." I replied, wondering how many words she knew how to spell, when she'd figured me out before now, why she knew what scotch was, and how she knew about getting drunk. The girl was above average smart for her age, following in her dad's footsteps. It made me proud... and a bit worried.

"Well, can I get drunk at my party?"

I chuckled. "No, Vita. You're too young to get drunk. You'll always be too young to get drunk." I couldn't imagine her any bigger or older than the small toddler in my arms. "Why don't we get you to bed? It's getting late."

She clung to me as I got up with her in my arms. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too."

* * *

**_-Giggles- I know this is pretty OOC, but you guys can just chill._**

**_I hope you like the nickname I picked out for Victoria. It's got a personal meaning in my life as well, but I don't need to tell everybody how. ._**

**_It also seemed a bit better than a "sweetie" or "sweetheart" or "honey" or "pumpkin" or something of the sort._**

**_I haven't started the next chapter yet, and I was curious what you guys want._**

**_This chapter skipped forward almost 5 years, and I'm most likely skip forward some more... _**

**_Unless you would rather me write a chapter on the birthday party... Which I can do if you like._**

**_Thank you guys for the lovely reviews, they make me so happy. :3_**


	4. Chapter 4

**_I know it's been over a month. I'm really sorry guys. _**

**_My excuses: I started Supernatural, school began, we had to put down my dog, and I turned 17... Not necessarily in that order._**

**_So I'm sorry, but thanks for sticking around. You guys have been and always will be the best._**

**_This chapter is a bit... unnecessary. But I decided to post it anyways._**

**_Hope you like it at least a little bit._**

* * *

If somebody had told me years ago that I'd be walking around a house filled with pink and purple streamers and balloons while wearing a birthday tiara, I would have laughed in their face and said something along the lines of "That's illogical." But here I was, decorating the house for my daughter's fifth birthday party and being forced to wear the tiara despite the fact that it squeezed my head and pulled at my hair.

"Daddy! When is Uncle Crofty bringing the cake?" Victoria called from the bathroom. She'd been in there an awful long time "getting ready" so everybody would think she "looked pretty." I tried to tell her that she was adorable no matter what she did, but she refused to think anything of my opinion.

"She should be here soon, Vita."

"Call him! Make sure he's coming." She demanded.

"He's coming. He is your only uncle after all." I said, placing up the last of the streamers.

"Call him anyways." She commanded, coming out to the living room.

"Why don't you call him?" I asked, trying to hand her my phone, but she just shook her head.

I sighed. "Fine." I dialed his number and adjusted my tiara; I was going to have a major headache by the end of the night.

"What is it, Sherlock?" Mycroft picked up after the second ring.

"Vita _demanded_ I call you and make sure you're coming."

"Of course I'm coming. I'm on my way already. Tell her to be patient."

"Why don't you try telling this five year old to be patient?" I chuckled. Unfortunately, Victoria had the family stubbornness. Telling her to be patient was exponentially worse than telling _me_ to be patient.

"Give her the phone then."

I rolled my eyes and held my mobile out to her. "Uncle Mycroft would like to talk to you."

She grinned and took the phone. "Uncle Crofty? Are you going to be here soon? Do you have the cake?"

I heard his muffled voice for a moment before she frowned. "Are you eating my cake?"

"No, I'm sure that is exactly how you sound when you're eating cake. Guilty and satisfied at the same time. I swear Uncle Crofty, if you're eating my birthday cake…" Victoria handed the phone back to me.

"Well that went well." I suppressed a laugh.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"I probably shouldn't ask how the diet is going then… Although I really do hope you didn't eat any of my daughter's cake. She won't be really happy with you."

"Of course I didn't."

"So what? The bakery had individual slices…?"

"Yes, actually. They did. However, I'm on a diet." Mycroft claimed.

"They did, but you bought a whole cake for yourself."

I knew I was right as soon as I heard the click of him hanging up.

Vita looked up at me with big, worried eyes. "He wasn't actually eating _my_ cake was he?"

"Of course not." I winced as I once again corrected the tiara on the top of my head.

"Don't take it off, Daddy!"

"I'm not." I replied, poking her stomach." You're awfully bossy today. Is that what comes with turning five?"

She giggled. "Don't! That tickles."

"Oh? Does it?" I picked her up with one arm and tickled her with the other. "What about that? Does that tickle?"

She squirmed and laughed hard enough to begin snorting. I stopped abruptly. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" She asked breathlessly.

"It's stopped now. But it almost sounded as if we've got a pig running around the house." I grinned and Victoria looked confused for only a short moment before smiling as well.

I had just placed her back on her feet when the doorbell rang. She went to run to the front door, but I stopped her. "Why don't you let me get it this time?"

She followed closely behind me all the same. The doorbell rang again and I realized it was Mycroft. Only my brother, Victoria, and I are impatient enough to not bother in waiting for more than ten seconds for anything.

I considered waiting to open it just to see how long it would take him to start yelling at me, but I decided to save it for another day.

I opened the door to an unhappy Mycroft carrying a very large cake box. "Is there any cake left?" I asked, jokingly.

"I'm on a diet." He repeated stubbornly. "Are you going to take this or not?"

"You know where the kitchen table is. Now move out of the way, Mrs. Hudson is behind you."

Mycroft sighed. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson." He stepped past me and shot me a glare before disappearing into the house followed by Victoria.

"It's good to see you, Mrs. Hudson." I said, kissing her cheek before shutting the door.

"You too, dear."

"You shouldn't leave London." I stated flatly, greetings aside.

She rolled her eyes. "You can live without me for a couple of weeks."

"Hardly."

"Oh, Sherlock." She grabbed onto my arm. "How are you? Really?"

"I'm fine. Vita keeps me on my toes."

"Good. Now carry this while I get the door." She replied, shoving a small gift wrapped in silver paper (a nice change from all the pink). I was surprised for a moment; I hadn't even heard anyone arrive. And I almost thought Mrs. Hudson was losing it until I heard both John and Lestrade at the door.

"Ah. John, Greg. It's lovely to see you both. John, I thought your wife was coming along?"

"She wasn't feeling very well." John explained, but I could hear in his voice that he was lying.

I continued into the living room with Mrs. Hudson, John, and Lestrade not far behind me. I set Mrs. Hudson's gift down with my own and the most recent arrivals did as well.

Mrs. Hudson went to talk to Victoria and Mycroft was eyeing the cake, so I took my chance to talk to John. "Mary isn't sick." I said quietly.

Lestrade shook his head, as if telling me not to say anything, but John just sighed. "We had a huge argument and she just packed a bag and left."

Normally I would have replied with an "obviously or "of course" and honestly both were on the tip of my tongue. But my newly found compassion told me to shut my mouth. I settled with a simple and vague and rather annoying yet customary, "I'm sorry."

John looked astounded for a minute. "Right. Um, thanks Sherlock."

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably and it was obvious that it would be an awkward evening.

That was an understatement.

Victoria was the only one that didn't notice the solemn mood that settled over the gathering. She opened gifts and ate cake and ice cream till her stomach ached. She yelled at anyone that attempted to remove their birthday hats. Apparently only _I_ was "special" enough for the tiara. It wasn't much of a privilege if you were to ask me.

I spent the majority of the night drinking the cheap Scotch Lestrade had brought along, staring at the the dining room chair that had sat vacant for five years too many, and craving a cigarette even though I hadn't even touched one in six years.

I knew I was supposed to be happy and cheerful. It was my daughter's birthday; however, everyone's mind was in the same place. Five years later, and no one was over the fact that Molly had been taken away from us so soon.

* * *

**_It was all cute and stuff and I went and ruined it... I'm sorry. ._**

**_Ugh. So, if there's something specific you want to see in the coming chapters, let me know._**

**_I won't garauntee anything really fast, but it'll get posted eventually._**

**_Let me know what you thought of the story so far! Good or bad!_**

**_My readers are the best. Love you guys. C:_**


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